A Children's Story - A FEAR Bioshock crossover
by Transwarrior666
Summary: A young, psychic boy meets a young, dimension hopping girl. A story about innocence set in dark, tragic worlds.


A Children's Tale - A Bioshock-FEAR crossover.

* * *

A young, psychic boy meets a young, dimension-hopping girl. A story about innocence set in dark, tragic worlds. May be a oneshot, depending on my muse.

* * *

Prologue.

Rapture - 1959

They call me the Point Man. I was to be the first of many. I was to be the Firstborn.

But I failed.

They wanted to create Gods, and instead they created monsters.

Yes, I am a monster. I've made peace with what I am a long ago. Me, my mother and my brother… and even my little half-sister. Beckett's child, now my own. All of us – monsters. A family of monsters.

My mother and brother are no longer among the living, but their psychic link lingers in me. Even now, I can feel them tugging at my mind, whispering to me in the darkness.

 _Broooother…! My dear, beloved brother… You've been a naughty boy. Veeeerrrryy Nauuuughty indeed…_

I can feel their twisted tendrils growing stronger and stronger, like cancerous vines spreading to devour me.

But I ignore them. Let them laugh and scream. They no longer matter. Only her. I have to reach her. I have to save her.

 _Elizabeth. Elizabeth, I'm coming._

I see her now, surrounded by rough, jeering men with guns. One of them swings a wrench into her head, and she crumbles to the ground. I wanted to cry out; to scream in rage, but all I could feel was sorrow and pain. I feel my eyes moisten even as my fingers tighten on my pistol.

 _Kiiiillllll! Kiiiillllll! Fettel and Mother shriek in maddened animalistic hunger. Kiiiilllll theeeem foooor uuuussss!_

I have become indifferent to killing. To me, it is simply something that I must do to survive. Nothing more. But at this moment, I feel an emotion that is usually foreign to me: Wrath.

"Who the fuck are…" the leader of the group would never have the chance to finish his sentence, as several hollow point bullets penetrated into his skull. The same happened to his two lieutenants half a heartbeat later.

His other lieutenants, a little less than dozen or so, open fire at me, but I am thankful for it. The sound of gunshots drown out the screaming laughter of mother and Fettel.

"Did you see that?!" I hear one of the thugs scream in disbelief. It is a familiar refrain from the men I kill. I've heard it all before. _What the hell are you? How did he do that? That ain't natural._ These are the words of someone who has seen a man dodging bullets, and moving faster than the eye could see. Funny. From my perspective, it was always the reverse. They moved so slow.

So very slow. Slower than the weakest Armacham grunt. I feel a cold nausea, as I track each of my bullets, penetrating their bodies and spraying the walls with their life's blood.

The battle ends and I stare at the all too familiar carnage around me. I can feel Fettel and mother dancing their merry dance inside my head, but I close my eyes and push them away.

 _Go away Paxton! Go away mother!_

They scream at me, but they obey. They fade into the shadows of my memories, there to gloat and mock with sneering whispers.

With them gone, I kneel besides Elizabeth. Her head was bleeding where the thug hit her with the wrench. I had seen wounds like these before. I had inflicted most of them. The best case scenario is that she would develop a Subdural Hematoma. The worst case…

"Elizabeth…" I was surprised to hear the sound of my own voice; surprised at the sorrow. Gone was my usual deep, cynical tone. In its place is the voice of a scared young boy who died a long time ago.

"Poe…" she whispered. "Is that… Is that you?"

"Yes. Yes, it's me." _Poe_. I remember now. She gave me that name. She gave me a name to replace the barcode that was my birthright.

 _She gave me a name._

"I said I would come back for you; that I would save you. Now, I'm here. Elizabeth…." And the voice of a scared, weak boy came out. "Please don't die."

"Poe…"

"Don't talk. I have to treat your wounds. I…" I become dumbfounded, as the realization hits me like a bullet. I can't help her. She needs medical attention, and I am a killer, not a doctor.

"Poe…"

I stare into her eyes, and only now did I come to appreciate the beautiful woman she had become; like a real princess from the old stories. But I am no prince.

Far from it. Just a defective weapon from a world gone mad. I weep, as I cradle Elizabeth's dying body on my lap.

"Listen to me. You…" she coughs and a little blood seeps through her mouth. "You have to save them. You have to save Sally.

"No… No, I came to save you!" I hissed, and I feel hot tears running through my cheeks.

"It's too later for me," Elizabeth whispered "Promise me, Poe. Please save, Sally." Next to me, I hear a young girl crying. I turn to look, and I find a poor, suffering, mutilated creature trying to hold back her tears.

 _So this was Sally._

I turn back to Elizabeth but her eyes were losing focus, and I knew that it was too late. Too late.

 _Brother._

 _My son.  
_

"Go away!" I snarled in fury

I clench my teeth and I swallow the pain in my heart, and the whole world came into focus.

"Go away."

 _You're bleeding._ They say.

I am. I am bleeding. I touch my nose, and I see red blood on my fingers. Wait. Something's wrong here. Something's... Think. Think. Something's wrong. What did I... No. It couldn't be! No!

"No!"

"Yes!" I turn and I find the Luteces staring down at me, their faces grim and angry, but also weary and tired.

"Oh yes, you did," Rosalind said.

"And now, we are all stuck in a paradox because of you!" Robert continued.

* * *

More than 20 years ago…

He had no name, and as far as Harlan Wade was concerned, he didn't deserve one.

Subject 1, they call him. His official name was his barcode, but the scientists and soldiers thought it easier to just call him Subject 1, despite Wade's disapproval.

Subject 1, the failure. No psychic potential. No supernatural powers to speak of. Worthless. Not like Subject 2. Now, there was a specimen worthy of all the investment. Potent. Powerful. Lethal.

Subject 1 was aware of all this. Harlan made a point to tell him whenever they met, but he didn't care. He liked it that way. Failure and weakness meant no more experiments; no more tests. No more needles or scalpels. No more cold medical beds or sharp lights. No more nightmares.

He liked being a failure. He liked being a weakling. It meant being left alone.

But failure though he may be, Subject 1 had a few special talents of his own, talents that he kept hidden from those around him. They were nothing like Subject 2. He couldn't kill soldiers with his mind, nor can he rip apart steel frames with a thought. No, his "talent" is more subtle.

Whenever "they" (and "they" usually meant Harlan Wade) would take Subject 2, Subject 1 would turn inwards, and look for the magic door deep within his mind. He would either sit down on his cot or stare blankly in front of the TV, but the outcome is always the same: a journey deep into himself… into the depths of his mind, where all his fears and ecstasies waited.

There, Alma waited.

Always she waited, her hands outstretched, begging him to come to her…

"Come to me," she said in her lilting girlish voice. "Come to me my beautiful boy."

But he would not come. Always, he rejected her outstretched hand. Always, he ran. Running and running deeper and deeper into himself. No, he had other places to go and other places to be; where neither Alma, nor Harlan Wade nor even his own "friend," Subject 2 would find him.

He was going to the Playground with the Door.

It takes a little concentration and perhaps a little pain, but he always found himself going to that magical Playground with the Door, far away from his little room and the scientists and the soldiers, who secretly watched him.

Subject 1 had gone through the Door before. He had gone through it many times before. The door led to other playgrounds, each of them with their own doors.

Being naturally curious, Subject 1 had peered into some of those doors.

They showed him nothing but terrors.

In one door, he saw the corpse of Jin Sun-Kwon covered in blood. Subject 1 had never met this woman before, but he somehow knew her name, remembered her as though she was a part of him. _Strange._

In another, he saw himself possessed by his brother, Paxton Fettel, his mouth bloody after devouring their mother's energies and the unnatural child that she gave birth to. Paxton Fettel. Subject 2. Paxton Fettel. Subject 2. One and the same. The broken boy and the monster. One and the same.

In a few other doors, he saw himself marching across the shattered wastes of the world, flanked by his mother and brother, as they twisted and tortured reality according to their whims. Gods. He would look into this God-version's eyes and his soul would scream in terror.

 _Close the doors. Close them. Lock them. I don't want to see them._

But not all doors were terrible. There were other doors where a young girl waited for him, his little sister, happy and beautiful. There were also doors where he valiantly protects the world from Armacham and the madness of his brother, Paxton.

Subject 1 never understood the knowledge behind such doors, but he felt a strange certainty in their revelations. Like déjà vu, they imposed themselves on his mind, reminding him of memories that he's never had, and actions that he has never done.

But Subject 1 was not interested in exploring the other doors today. No, he had a special rendezvous.

Taking a deep breath, subject 1 opened the door and stepped into the other side.

* * *

Subject 1's eyes widened with happiness, as he caught sight of the girl. She had been drawing pictures again, her blue dress covered in bright, wet colors. She ran around her gigantic and beautiful room, while humming a nice, gentle tune.

She paused as she detected his presence, and she smiled brightly as he approached closer.

"Poe!" the girl cried happily as she ran towards his presence, a bright smile on her face. "Are you there?"

Subject 1 didn't answer. He never liked talking. Talking usually leads to a beating.

"Helllloooo. Stop teasing me, Poe. Are you there?"

Poe, she called him; after Edgar Allan Poe, who wrote a lot of ghost stories. The girl argued that because Subject 1 was a boy ghost then he should have boy ghost's name.

Subject 1 had told her his real name, but the girl argued that serial numbers are not names. And so Subject 1 became "Poe"

"Yes," his voice sounded like a squeak. "I'm here, Elizabeth."

"Poe! There you are, you silly ghost."

Subject 1 had tried to explain that he was not a ghost; that he was in fact a just a strange boy, but Elizabeth didn't understand any of it, and had insisted that he was making fun of her.

"Wait a moment, and let me open a _tear_ for you." Elizabeth focused her mind, and with a little effort, opened a small tear to allow Subject 1's psychic form to enter her room.

Subject 1 passed through the tear with no trouble. He appeared before the girl as a glowing transparent image covered in a bright red aura. He smiled shyly at Elizabeth for a moment before finding something terribly interesting on the floor.

But Elizabeth would have none of the shy boy act. She leapt at Poe, and hugged him as though he was real, and not a bundle of psychic energy projected across time and space. Subject 1 doesn't realize it, but his psychic form made him glow red.

Subject 1 could only smile shyly, as he returned the happy girl's hug. Elizabeth – beautiful, gentle Elizabeth – she of blue dress and soft ribbons. Subject 1 still doesn't know how he keeps finding Elizabeth, or why they seem to share a strange, almost instinctive connection, but it was not a question that he felt terribly concerned with.

Subject 1 had met Elizabeth while wandering through the doors of his mind. They had found each other when Elizabeth stumbled onto one of Subject 1's playgrounds. It was the first time she had met someone like her, someone who sort of shared her unique talent.

Both Subject 1 and Elizabeth did not understand the reasons why they had their special talents, but they were too happy to care. After years of being alone, they had found a friend in one another, and nothing else mattered. She, the girl in the tower and he, the boy in sanitized cage.

In his young and naive mind, she seemed like a mythical creature too gentle to exist. She was nothing like the guards or scientists who controlled his life, nor was she anything like Subject 2 or Alma. There was no malice in her, nor did she make him feel as though he had to be on guard all the time.

They would rendezvous with each other through the doors, and play and dance across time and space. Being her friend, Elizabeth even showed "Poe" the path to her home, the path to Columbia, where the prophet and his family dwelt. It was through this knowledge that Poe found a way to find Elizabeth – his Elizabeth, for there were many versions of her, just as there are many versions of him – and play with her whenever he felt lonely, or whenever she called out to him.

"Poe! One of the scientists gave me a new book today!" She said excitedly, while grabbing one of his etheric arms, dragging him to her library-slash-music-room. "It's a book about Baroque French songs! Come see!"

* * *

In the last couple of hours, Elizabeth forced Subject 1 to listen to her sing in French. She messed up most of the words, but the music came out beautifully. Elizabeth Comstock had a beautiful voice. After that, they played tag and hide and seek, with Subject 1 emerging the victor most of the time.

They stopped playing after the fifth round. Subject 1 said he was tired, but it was actually because Elizabeth was a sore loser, so he threw the last round and let her emerge the final victor.

They then made their way to Elizabeth's study to talk about things. The girl was very knowledgeable about all sorts of topics. She knew physics, geography, history, music, but most of all, she loved song and fiction, and yearned for the songs of distant lands.

Subject 1 counted himself lucky this time, because Elizabeth would force her – often with an angry glare – to dance with her whenever she was in this mood, and even in his etheric form, he kept stumbling on his feet. At one point, she even forced _\- yes, forced -_ to pretend to be a fairy tale prince and kiss the back of the princess' hand, her hand.

But thankfully, Elizabeth was in a talkative mood today. Whenever Elizabeth wanted to bring up a new topic, Subject 1 would float quietly nearby and listen, letting her do most of the talking. Elizabeth did not like his taciturn personality nor was she a fan of his short terse answers to her questions, but he was pleasant company, so she wasn't all that bothered by his behaviour.

Most of their conversation revolved around Elizabeth's adventures through the tears, both the wonderful and the strange. Subject 1 saw many strange things as well, but he didn't want to talk about those. There was nothing wonderful about them at all.

At length Elizabeth asked Subject 1 about his home. It was a sensitive topic that she always brought up whenever she met up with Poe, and as always, Subject 1 would give her a vague answer.

"Where do boy-ghosts live?" she asked, and had asked before.

"A room," he would always answer and add nothing else. It was a strange answer, and Elizabeth thought he was lying. She suspected that "Poe" lived in a Ghost-City, filled with other ghost-boys who played their little ghost games, but there was nothing she could do to prod out any other answers from him.

Elizabeth rolled around her bed, and pretended she was somewhere in France, or in some strange magical castle.

"Do you ever want to run away, Poe?" She asked him.

Subject 1 just shrugged, not really sure he could run away from Armacham or from Wade. It never really occurred to him.

"I want to run away," Elizabeth continued. "It want to run away from here. I could, you know, but I keep coming back. It's like I'm looking for something. Do you ever feel like that sometimes?" she asked with an almost adult-like seriousness.

"Sometimes," Subject 1 answered. "But where would I go?"

"You can live here with me," she said cheerily. "Then we can play like this all the time."

Poe didn't answer. He had found something very interesting near his feet again.

Elizabeth chuckled at his unease, and decided it was time.

"I want to give you something," Elizabeth said with a big grin, suddenly changing the subject.

Subject 1 cocked his head to the right in curiosity. Elizabeth brought out a bright blue ribbon, just like the one on her hair. She then lunged at Subject 1 and began tying it around his red ethereal hair. But the ribbon passed through and fell to the ground.

"Oh right. Ghost," Elizabeth told herself annoyed. "Silly Elizabeth!"

Then to her surprise, "Poe" picked up the ribbon with his finger and tied it around his wrist. The ribbon stayed there, and she clapped her hands in glee. "Poe" could materialize himself when he wanted to.

Then Subject 1's form began to fade, and she knew that he needed to go. It was always like this with their rendezvous. Poe would appear, they would play and then he would fade away.

"You're leaving now?" She asked, knowing the answer.

Subject 1 nodded, and despite himself, he hugged her tightly, and despite himself, a tear fell across his cheek. Elizabeth pushed him away, her eyes mischievous, then before Subject 1 knew what was happening, Elizabeth leaned in close and kissed him on the lips. It was a cute, little peck, much like the drawings she saw on one of her books.

She had wanted to try it on a boy, and she was glad that she did, even if he was a ghost.

Elizabeth leaned back with a big grin on her face, her cheeks somewhat red. Subject 1 was also glowing a brighter shade of red - a red giant. He just stood there, his mouth open, and an embarrassed expression on his face.

He had never experienced a kiss before, and for it to happen like that, well…

"You will come back again soon, right?"

Subject 1 nodded his head with a smile, and his etheric form began to fade like smoke. His fading fingers touched a fallen strand of Elizabeth's hair and the girl smiled brightly at him as he was wrenched back to his own reality.

* * *

Subject 1 opened his eyes in weariness. He could hear Subject 2 screaming and yelling profanities. Harlan too. He was back in the cell, and his universe became a little darker.

"I will not calm down. I will kill you. I will kill all of you," Subject 2 snarled, as he pounded at the door with his bloody fists. "Arrrrrggghhhh!"

Subject 1 wanted to go comfort Subject 2, but the last time he did that, the latter kicked him in the groin, and proceeded to bite his face before several soldiers managed to sedate him. Subject 1 didn't want to risk that happening again. It took three months for his face to fully heal.

Subject 1 lay down, facing away from Subject 2 (who was now quietly muttering to himself), and he took out Elizabeth's blue ribbon, caressing it lovingly, as though it was the most important thing in the world, then he closed his eyes and allowed blissful memories to take him.

* * *

"Well?" Genevieve Aristide asked sharply at the red-haired man and woman next to her. All three wore dour business attires and even dourer faces. The quantum detection device on the man's lap was pinging a consistent beeping noise, confirming that the boy down in the observation cell had opened a "pseudo-tear" using his psychic talents.

All three were alone in the observation deck. Aristide had made sure of that. Wade will ask questions - the old bastard usually does - but she was confident that she could handle him.

"Impressive," the young woman next to her replied. "Very impressive. You are correct, Ms. Aristide. The boy has a-"

"Talent that the good Dr. Wade has overlooked," the young man next to her continued. "May we be able to speak-"

"with the _boy?_ With your permission of course," the woman continued.

"Of course," the young man repeated.

"No," Aristide said flatly. "That is out of the question. Unfortunately, Wade controls Project Origin, but perhaps I can help arrange for some of their findings to be delivered to you."

Both the man and the woman frowned at the answer, clearly unhappy, but also unwilling to speak their minds. So instead they changed the subject with a question.

"A brief question if you don't mind," the woman said.

"Does Dr. Wade suspect anything about the boy's talents?" the man asked.

"You can never be sure with Wade," Aristide replied. "But judging by the way he treats Subject 1, I'm inclined to think he considers the boy worthless."

"Hmmm." Both the man and the woman replied, while staring down at the boys in observation cell below. Both were staring in their direction. Then Subject 2 screamed at them before jumping on his bed and kicking the pillows around like a lunatic. Subject 1 just stared at them, and despite their clinical natures, both the man and the woman flinched at the little boy's sad, empty eyes.

They were wakened from their reverie by Aristide's sharp voice.

"Now to the matter at hand," Aristide said, "The Telesthetic Attunment Chamber. Can it be connected with your device?"

"Theoretically." The twins answered in unison. Then the woman spoke. "We will require more information unfortunately,"

Then the man, "which is why we request that you allow us to examine the boy."

"A closer examination would-"

"Allow us to bridge our theories with Dr. Wade's psychic research…"

"Not to mention accelerate the pace of our work."

"No," Arisitde said sharply. "No. You will not participate in Project Origin. The last thing I want to do is antagonize Wade. Project Origin is…" She sighed. "complicated enough as it is. Project Harbinger is already coming along nicely, and I will try to give you access to that instead, but as for the boy, he is off limits! Do we have an understanding?"

The man and the woman nodded in unison, and Aristide was pleased that they understood the situation.

"Good. For now, focus on combining the Telesthetic Attunment Chamber with your device. I'll see to it that you have everything you need."

* * *

"My Prophet," the scientist-caretaker said cautiously.

"Yes?" Comstock replied.

"She was talking to herself again today," the scientist-caretaker explained. "Her imaginary friend."

"Poe?"

"Yes, 'Poe.' This is getting serious. There are unusual readings coming from her room. I fear that she is…" The man trailed off.

"She's what?" Comstock asked ominously.

"Becoming insane, my prophet. I think that her confinement is causing her to hallucinate. Perhaps I'm just being paranoid but I don't know what to do. Sorry. I believe that- Ah, please excuse me. What do you want us to do?"

Comstock paused and pondered his options carefully. "Call the Luteces. No, wait. I'll contact them. I think it's time we had a little chat about this 'Poe' character."


End file.
